Page 26 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
J ayden took the girls back to the camp, and Caelan kept watch over the attackers until he returned. Jayden brought back with him four of their strongest men, and with two men hauling each assassin, they dragged them back to the camp.
The assassins stirred a little on their journey. One of them came to, but he soon gave up his struggle as he realized his hands and feet were tied.
Once they were back in the camp, Jayden tied them to the trees and began his interrogation. When he got no answers, he threatened torture. Water over a rag, nails pulled with knives—he tried everything. But as Caelan had expected, they did not breathe a word.
“Name yer price,” he said. “I ken ye are only here because someone is payin’ ye to kill me. Tell me how much ye were paid and I will give ye more.”
The men looked at one another and tried to come to a silent agreement. But Caelan had a different plan.
“Each of ye will whisper the amount ye were paid in me man-at-arms’ ear. If ye all name the same price, then that is what we will go with. I will pay ye a bigger sum. If ye name different prices, the one who names the highest price gets his throat slit.”
The men’s bodies tensed further. They stared dead ahead now, not daring to look at one another for fear of seeming like they were scheming. Jayden collected their prices, and the plan worked. Caelan offered them a pittance more, and they succumbed.
“All right, who wants to share?”
Caelan saw the fattest of the men gulp, and sweat beaded on the brow of another.
“Ye only get yer money in exchange for the name, lads. We have an agreement here.”
He waited, and still, no one spoke. They were all trembling with nerves.
“Ye’re nae goin’ to like it, Sinclair,” the man who had come wielding two swords finally spoke.
“I’m sure I can handle it. Humor me,” Caelan said, smirking.
“It’s yer uncle. Harrison.”
And just like that, his smirk fell.
* * *
Caelan sat in the Great Hall alone. He had his sword on the table in front of him and a dagger in his hand. He twirled the handle on the table, spinning the blade so that the tip traced a circle on the tip of his finger. His touch was so light that the blade did not cut him, but if he pressed even a little, a droplet of blood would bead on his fingertip.
He waited patiently for his uncle to be brought to him, kicking and screaming.
“Let me go! Do ye ken who I am?!”
The shouts echoed through the corridors long before Harrison was dragged into the Great Hall, and Caelan leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck. He listened to the voice that had been present in his life for as long as he could remember.
While mostly unpleasant and never very close, his uncle had always been around. Now, Caelan understood why his father had kept him at arm’s length, if not further.
“What is the meanin’ of this, Caelan?” Harrison barked as he was shoved into the Great Hall by two burly guards.
“Uncle,” Caelan drawled as the man threw his arms about like a gigantic toddler. “Nice of ye to show yer face.”
“What is goin’ on, Caelan? How dare they treat me like this? I am the uncle of the Laird!”
“Ah.” Caelan tsked, still spinning his blade beneath his finger, amused that the brute hadn’t even taken the weapons in front of him as a threat. “That was yer justification, was it nae? Think that yer blood bought ye somethin’? Somethin’ that yer mind was never good enough to afford?”
“Excuse me?” Harrison growled through bared teeth, spittle flying from the side of his mouth.
“Ye can release him now,” Caelan instructed the guards, who let go of the man’s arms and left.
Harrison charged towards where Caelan sat and slammed his fat, grubby hands on the table. “How dare ye speak to me like that!”
“I, Uncle, will speak to ye however I like.” Caelan drove his dagger into the table, right between Harrison’s forefinger and middle finger, causing him to jump in fright. “As yer Laird and everyone else’s. Despite yer many attempts to have me killed.”
At that, Harrison dropped the act, and his fury transformed into hatred. His cheeks relaxed, his brow smoothed, and a hint of bloodthirst entered his eyes. His hand darted to his belt, from which he quickly drew a sword, but Caelan was already on the table, his own sword in hand, swinging down at Harrison.
“The Lairdship is mine!” Harrison bellowed, swerving out of the way just in time and backing up.
Caelan leaped from the table and slashed Harrison’s free arm.
“If it was yers, me faither would have passed it to ye. He gave it to me!” he shot back, taking another jab and slicing into Harrison’s side.
His uncle’s face reddened with rage. He lunged forward with an almighty swing from his unharmed side, and his blade cut through Caelan’s side. Blood seeped into his shirt slowly, but it was not enough to end him. He had sustained worse injuries.
“Ye are a coward, Caelan. Ye’ll never be strong enough to defend a whole clan. I’ll do a much better job at it.”
Harrison thought that because he had drawn blood, he had won. But Caelan was not done.
Pretending to be more hurt than he actually was, he stumbled backward, pressing down on his wound and feigning shock. He lured his uncle in, knowing the man would want to see the light go out of his eyes, until he was just close enough.
“In the next life, maybe,” he whispered, making Harrison lean in further to hear him, then made his move.
Dropping his sword to the ground, he thrust his blade upward into the soft flesh beneath his uncle’s chin. The blade tore through Harrison’s jaw, mouth, and skull, causing blood to erupt from every orifice in his face. It sprayed Caelan, and as his uncle crumpled to the ground, he was the one to see the light go out of his eyes. Harrison hit the ground with a loud thud, choking on his last blood-filled breaths.
“Goodbye, Uncle,” Caelan croaked.
Only once his uncle was dead did Caelan start to feel the burn in his side. He placed a hand over the wound and found that it was not bleeding as much as the pain warranted. He took a step towards the table, aiming to sit and have a better look, but his feet dragged. As he looked down at his boots, he saw them blur and shift.
He knew something was wrong and that he would have to get to Michaela right away. Maybe Harrison’s blade had sliced into a vital organ, and he was hemorrhaging, hence the dizziness. He had no idea, but he endeavored to put one foot in front of the other, over and over again, no matter how slowly, until he reached the healer’s door.
He collapsed on the floor with a thud, and his vision went dark. He heard the door open and people start to gather around him, shaking him to wake up.
Caelan felt sick, and he was unable to see anything. His breathing slowed, and his body went numb. But with the final ounce of energy he had left, he called for the only face he wanted to see, if it was to be his last.
“Rosaline.”
* * *
Alexandra burst into the room like a boulder tumbling down a hill. She pushed through the door, and her momentum kept her going until she slammed into the side of the bed her brother was lying on.
“Caelan!” she cried, her heart sinking with horror.
His skin was pale, his hair stuck to his sweat-slick forehead, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, slow breaths.
“Will he be all right?” She turned to Michaela, wringing her hands. “How did this happen?”
“He is stable for now, but his fever hasnae broken,” Michaela replied.
Alexandra felt the weight of the situation press upon her, as Michaela’s tone did not hold even a hint of the joy and playfulness that it usually did. Even in sad times, Michaela would find space for a small joke, just enough to lighten the mood and pull everyone through it. But now, there was no such space.
“Jayden told me what happened with Harrison, but me braither sustained many injuries before. He is healthy and strong. How could it happen?”
Alexandra returned to Caelan’s side and took his hand, which lay limp in hers.
“It wasnae just a normal wound, lass. I’m afraid that Harrison came prepared for a duel today. I believe his sword was laced with poison.”
Alexandra clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sob that escaped. Poison. She had little experience with it, but from the stories she had read and heard, it was a hard battle to win. It could ravage through the body long before anyone found out what it was and prepared the antidote.
“I dinnae ken which poison was used, lass. I fear I cannae heal him this time.”
Alexandra fell to her knees and sobbed into her brother’s arm. She could not lose him; she was not ready. He had always told her to be prepared for his death, but what was a sister to do to prepare for the death of her only living kin? How could she have possibly prepared for this?
Her chest heaved as tears streamed down her face. Michaela rubbed her back soothingly until her tears ebbed.
“Alexandra…” Michaela uttered her name like a question, seeking permission to speak.
Alexandra nodded.
“When he arrived here, he breathed a single word.”
Alexandra looked up at the healer, ensuring she caught her brother’s last request.
“Rosaline.”
The news gave Alexandra the final burst of energy she needed to help her brother. It also reminded her of something she had overheard Caelan recounting to Jayden after his wife had left. He had told Jayden about Clan MacKinnon and had mentioned that Laird MacKinnon’s wife was a healer.
Alexandra had no reason to think that Lady MacKinnon was any better than Michaela, but two healers were better than one.
She took a deep breath and, without another word to Michaela, left the room. She ran up to her bedroom and pulled a piece of parchment from her desk. She wrote to Rosaline, asking her to return immediately and to bring her sister-in-law with her. She told her as much as she could in as few words as possible, desperate to finish the letter and have it sent out quickly. Then, ran to Jayden and handed him the letter.
“I’ll send it with our fastest messenger on our fastest horse,” Jayden promised.
Once she saw the letter leave the castle grounds, Alexandra rushed back to her brother’s bedside. She told Michaela to use her to her fullest extent.
Together, they cared for the Laird, eagerly awaiting the return of his wife and the healer.